


Traitors

by dentigerous



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Bodhi Rook Lives, Post-Rogue One, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-25 05:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12523540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dentigerous/pseuds/dentigerous
Summary: Finn has recovered from the events at Starkiller, and he is working with the Resistance to take down the First Order. When an outpost returns to the base, he's introduced to Bodhi Rook, a man who was erased from history.What kind of man does it take to turn traitor?





	Traitors

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be very different from a lot of my other fics! Short chapters, loosely held together by a tenuous string of plot, some flashbacks and introspection, another alternate history for Bodhi, and a deeper understanding of Finn informed by a few more books that have come out since TFA. I just really wanted to write these two characters together!

There were no deserters in the First Order. It was not defection, it was desertion. Immediate dishonor. There was a certain honor in defection, Finn thought. A moral decision, a righteousness. It could almost be likened to a respectful disagreement. 

There was no such thing in the First Order. 

You were or you weren’t. 

The Resistance was different. There were opinions, the variety of dissention, the ideas. It was a massive spread, a huge amalgam and Finn wasn’t ashamed to say that it was overwhelming. 

He had woken up a week after Rey had brought him back to D’Qar. They had already moved to another planet, a strange place with thin air and suns that shone gray light through long days, and had a golden moon. 

It was wide and open, and huge. It was more than walls and metal, and he was used to the hum of a home around him. It was almost maddening, but when he became to stir-crazy, when he missed the feeling of his troop-members breathing around him, he would leave the compound. Finn would never stray far, but he had found a trail leading up the cliffs, and he’d memorized the hike in the dark. 

He would go up and find a rock he had named, in his head, the crown, and he’d climb it. He’d sit there and stare up at the stars, and when he closed his eyes he felt as if he could feel the humming of the universe around him. It was if the stars were breathing softly, the night cradling his heart. 

He had spent a long morning at the crown, watching the suns rise. When he returned back into the base, Poe pulled him aside, smiling hugely. 

“I haven’t had breakfast yet,” Finn said quickly, eyebrows up, “please tell me this can wait?”

Poe shoved a scone (a generous term, as it was mostly a bready square full of protein powder and sugary herbs) into Finn’s hand, pulling him down the hall. 

“Eat fast,” the man said, walking quickly through the halls of the base. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Finn didn’t argue with Poe, but broke apart the scone, already popping parts into his mouth. “Who?”

“Nah, can’t tell you that, it’ll ruin the surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“Oh, I know.”

Finn huffed, and Poe glanced back at him, smiling. 

“You'll like this, I promise!” Poe exclaimed, jogging backwards, grinning at Finn. Finally, Finn smiled back in between bites of the scone. “I’ll get you breakfast for a week if you don’t like this.”

“You only say that because you get two portions anyway.” 

“I’m a growing man, Finn,” Poe declared, “I need two scones in the morning.”

Finn rolled his eyes but followed along. Poe led him through the base’s labyrinthine passages, different sizes, different shapes (non standard, non uniform, non conformist), carved out in blocky chunks by some substandard piece of tech. Finn swallowed, ignoring the need that he felt rising up to fix things that did not need fixing. 

Poe opened the door to a meeting room, and Finn was surprised to see that the space was full, most everyone in full uniform. There were people here that Finn didn’t recognize, and he instantly squared his shoulders, taking in their stances, what sort of weapons they had, how they were standing in relation to other people. He started as Poe elbowed him, glancing over.

“Stop that.” 

“I can’t help it.”

“Stop it anyway,” Poe murmured, walking through the throng. “Makes me nervous.” 

Finn didn’t stop. He continued to survey each person -- the pilot with red hair who favored her left leg, the lieutenant with his hand on his blaster, the tall twi’lek who seemed to be showing more skin than clothing, but whos stance made it seem like he knew what he was doing by it -- cataloguing them, sorting them, assessing the threat, weakness, strength, firepower--

“--wanted you to meet Finn, he helped me out a bind a few months ago.”

Finn was already looking over the old man in front of him. His face was lined with sharp creases along his brows and by his mouth. His skin was dark and stretched tight across his knuckles, scars along his cheekbone and neck spoke of a hard life. He wore a worn, faded khaki Resistance jumpsuit and and an officer’s patch on his shoulder. Finn saluted a half second later. 

“Sir.”

Poe smirked and shook his head. The old man narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. 

“Finn, this is Colonel Bodhi Rook. He’s one of our Navy leaders.”

“Good to meet you, sir.” Finn offered his hand. 

Rook regarded him carefully, nodding slightly. He took Finn’s hand and shook it firmly before turning it over, peering at his palm. “You’ve done work.”

Finn froze, glancing over at Poe, who didn’t move, his jovial smile still on his face. 

“I’ve been working for the Resistance-”

Rook let go of his hand. “You have callouses on your trigger finger. You’ve been using arms since you were a child. You don’t have a farmer’s lines. Your accent is sharp.”

“Just training, sir.” 

“Indoctrinated.” Rook’s voice was low and gravelly, and he glanced at Poe. 

Poe put his hands up, shaking his head. “Finn’s the one who broke me out of the _Finalizer_ , Colonel. He broke through the code.”

Finn pulled his hand back. Rook still looked angry. He set his jaw and shook his head. Glancing up at Finn, Rook pushed by him, knocking his shoulder none too lightly.

Finn blinked and looked at Poe. “I didn’t like that at all.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Poe said, slinging an arm around Finn and walking away from the crowd. “He’s not a friendly guy. Got a lot going on upstairs.”

Looking back over at Rook, Finn noticed that the Colonel seemed to both draw attention and reject it in turn. Everyone turned towards him or watched him, gave him space, leaned in when he spoke. It might just be a courtesy of rank, but there was a respect there equal to what people held for even the General. 

“Why did you want me to meet him?”

“He’s the pilot.”

Finn shook his head, and Poe handed him a plate for the food that had been laid out for the incoming delegation. “So are you.”

“No, mate. The pilot. The pilot who made all of this possible.” Poe gestured vaguely, keeping his head down. 

“I’ve never heard of him.” 

Poe snorted, piling up his plate before moving to the edge of the room. Finn realized that for the first time since he met Poe that he wasn’t the center of attention. 

He glanced over his shoulder at the people milling around Rook and the rest of the team. They were the ones who were getting asked questions, who were smiling and touching Rook’s arms and the shoulders of the other members of the envoy. 

Rook, for the most part, seemed to bear the attention of the people around him like a horse tolerated flies. Finn knew his posture, could read his annoyance in his pose. He didn’t know Rook, didn’t know what Poe meant when he said The Pilot, as if Rook was the only man in the resistance who knew how to fly. 

Finn watched him a moment longer and Poe made a noise, coming up beside him. “He’s the pilot that saved the rebellion thirty-five years ago.”

“How?” 

“He delivered the original plans for the death star to General Organa.” 

“How?”

Poe shrugged, picking at the stonefruit that he had piled onto his plate. “He flew them out.”

Rook glanced over, as if knowing that he was being talked about. Finn held his gaze for a few seconds, and when Rook glanced away. Finn wanted to ask more questions, ask what kind of ship he flew, who helped, where he had flown them from, where he had gotten them. The First Order hadn’t delved too much into the history of the Empire, and the history of the Rebellion had been glossed over in favor of criticizing the outcome. 

Finn pressed his mouth and looked down. Poe elbowed him. 

“We’ll talk to him later.”

“He doesn’t seem that interested in talking.” Finn muttered. 

Shrugging, Poe leaned against the wall. “He’ll warm up.”

“I think you’re saying that because everyone warms up to you.” 

“Not my fault I’m so charming.” Poe laughed. 

Finn was still watching Rook as he was led around the room, introduced and speaking to new members of the Resistance. He was wanted at every turn, people pressing to be closer to him. He scowled, answered in short bursts, barely moved. A hero and an angry man. 

Finn left quickly. He didn’t know what to make of Rook, or why Poe wanted to introduce him. There were many things about the Resistance he still didn’t understand. He fumbled at his belt, finding this keychip. With any luck, the archives would have more answers.


End file.
